


mess is mine

by butbythegrace



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bad Pain Night Ed, Chronic Pain, Edward Elric Swears, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RoyEd Week 2019, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 02:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20268838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butbythegrace/pseuds/butbythegrace
Summary: Ed had planned to cling to this as long as he could. He never thought he would be offered forever.





	mess is mine

**Author's Note:**

> Dragging myself out of writer’s block hell. Shout out to my other half, not only for being my Roy but for not saying a word as I listened to the same five songs on repeat while writing this. You are a saint.
> 
> Written for RoyEd Week 2019, day five prompt “balance”.
> 
> Named for “[Mess Is Mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZjLqvmZ4E4)" by Vance Joy.

Ed used to think the nightmares brought the pain. It took him a long time to realize it was the other way around.

It’d been difficult to discern because they always seem to come in tandem. Nightmares definitely bring the phantom itches and aches, but not even they can conjure the all-encompassing agony of what he can only describe as a ‘really bad night’. There isn’t a doubt they make it worse though, the pain feeding the horror that feeds back into the pain like the same ouroboros that sprinkles itself throughout his sleeping hours like confetti.

Wounds of both the physical and mental variety were his constant companions while he healed from the original surgery. He fought his way up the ladder to full-body functionality that he only needed the mildest of painkillers to manage, and at that point he really only had to worry about the weather, from pressure changes due to impending storms to freezing temperatures that literally chilled him to the bone. He could predict precipitation with more accuracy than the local weather stations though, which was kind of cool, other than the whole inescapable ache thing. And the nightmares- well. They’re too much to unpack, and it wouldn’t help anyway, so he’s always done his best to leave them where they lie.

In the end, he’d made it. _Better_ than made it. He’d reclaimed Al’s body and Al had reclaimed his arm and all the pain – all the surgeries and months spent in crippled agony and all the times he’d just wanted to rip the metal off his own body and bone – it had all been worth it. He was so enamored with what they’d accomplished – and that he was _finally_ fucking getting taller, thank you – that it was like a backhanded slap across the face when the high point of his life turned out to be nothing more than a plateau for his pain. It was all downhill from there.

Granny and Win had both warned him it would happen eventually. He’d been so young at the time of attachment, and they had no idea what complications could occur from being given his arm back, but both consequences almost immediately started to show. It started innocently enough, with heightened weather and pressure complaints from his leg, the pieces of wayward metal still embedded in his arm somewhat limiting his range of motion.

Three years in found him with an assortment of pain medication, bottles he’d labeled ‘bad day’, ‘pretty bad day’, and ‘fuck this shit’. Five years in and one more has joined the rest - ‘twenty minutes to knocked out’.

Ed knows he’s put it off for far too long. He could’ve been done with the entire process of removal and refitting and rehab almost twice over, but _nooooo_. First he just _had_ to get his degree and then he just _had_ to start his PhD, of which he had no hope of getting anywhere near finished before he absolutely had to do something about his leg. It was just a lame excuse to cover his true fear, but he’s made his bed. Literally, as the worst of it almost always happens in the middle of the night.

Nowadays the pain doesn’t need a reason. It doesn’t need nightmares or rain or snow. Sometimes it just _is_, and there’s no dignified way to wake up with it. Ed just hasn’t the capacity to.

It’s disorienting at best to be yanked so abruptly from sleep, like he’s been tossed into open water or a bottomless snowbank and can’t tell which way is up. His bangs are plastered to his forehead and his heart races. His body feels like lead, his leg a dead weight, heavy and unresponsive at first. And then it hits.

He slaps a hand over his mouth just in time to muffle the yelp. The sudden, startling agony feels like it slices from the tips of his non-existent toes and up into his hip and back. The nerves at the port ache and burn, their roots seize his muscles and make him wish they’d just give to the pressure. Please rip, please shred, he doesn’t even want them if they’re going to keep doing this to him.

Their room is nearly pitch black and that doesn’t help at all, it only heightens Ed’s other senses. He’s damp with sweat and his cheeks feel flushed, but he trembles with chills. Is there a word to describe the feeling of simultaneously succumbing to hypothermia while your bones melt? If there is, Ed can’t think of it. He can hardly think at all.

A breath hitches in his throat, dampening what would’ve been a cry to a whine. His next comes as a gasp as he curls in on himself, hands fumbling, sleep-addled and clumsy as they grip the part of his thigh where flesh meets metal, his right hand even less coordinated than the left because his shoulder aches too, seemingly for no reason other than just to remind Ed it’s there.

For the most part its issues are just a nuisance, but with his range of motion steady decreasing every year he doesn’t have much choice other than to let Winry see what she can carve out. At least it’s never hurt nearly as badly as his leg, even when it was automail. He thinks it might be because his arm had been taken cleanly at the joint while Truth had gone straight through the middle of his femur. Winry told him to think of his amputated leg as a broken bone – because for all intents and purposes, it was – and said that it would act like a broken bone. Ed didn’t really get what she meant by that then, beyond that it would take months to heal. Even with her warning he’d foolishly thought an entire missing limb would cause more pain and trouble than missing three quarters of one. It’s times like these he wishes Truth had just taken the whole damn thing.

In theory taking the automail off should help, but it doesn’t. It’s not the leg that’s the problem. It’s the too-small, too-tight, put-on-too-young and left-for-too-long port punishing him for living long enough to grow up. The pain it relays courses through him to the beat of his pulse. Teacher taught him to function above the noise of pain, but when it syncs up to his heartbeat, spider webbing through his body like the mended cracks in his bones, it’s all he can manage to just breathe.

Ed grits his teeth, shakily feeling across the mattress until there’s smooth wood beneath his fingertips. He’s not a fucking weakling. He should be able to do this himself. He’s been stabbed and sliced and fucking _impaled_. He can open a fucking bedside drawer and take his fucking medicine and-

His attempt to reach the drawer causes his shoulder to catch and he flinches with a hushed curse. Before he can recover, another spasm rips through his leg, crawling up the front of his thigh and into his abs and he can’t help but to bury his face in his pillow and groan, long and low.

It isn’t much louder than the whine, but it never does take much to bring Roy right there with him. Ed can’t hear him shift through the pounding of his own heart in his ears, but he can feel the covers pull as Roy stirs. Ed suspects some nights he’s already awake, chasing his own demons. It’s a wonder they ever manage a full night’s sleep between them.

Roy’s fingers drift down his ribs, curve over his hip. There isn’t a chance he doesn’t feel Ed shaking.

“Ed?” he asks, voice husky with sleep. “Are you alright?”

Ed grips the edge of the mattress and fights for a decent breath to answer with. He knows better by now than to lie.

“It. Hurts,” he finally manages between clenched teeth. It's the only thing he ever says, and frankly he's lucky he can even give that. Thankfully it's all he needs to say.

Roy is fully awake now. He pushes himself up, the mattress dipping as reaches over Ed to twist the lamp on to the dimmest setting it allows before he slips from their bed.

Ed tries to open his eyes but his vision is swimming in haze, swirling in circles, and he can’t. He’s already nauseous, and if he pushes the issue there’s a good chance he’s going to start dry heaving over the side of the bed and they’ll both be fucked for sleep if he can’t keep his medication down. He squeezes his eyes shut again.

Roy peels the covers off of him and he tries not to hiss as the cool air stings his clammy skin. He hears his bedside drawer open, the swishing slide of cotton against cotton, the jangle of pill bottles. Then comes the clap, the soft rush of alchemy and smell of ozone, and a soft warmth settles so blissfully sweet on his angry leg Ed nearly groans. He’d learned early on to fight fire with fire when it came to port pain. Roy had been unsure the first time – he’d wanted to get an ice pack and Ed had rudely suggested just where he could shove it, which, thankfully, Roy hadn’t taken personally. It hadn’t taken much more of Ed’s unfiltered, pain-blind begging to convince him to _do_ something, _anything _as long as it was warm, even if Roy refused to ever apply the alchemy directly to his body.

Ed never pushed back on that one.

After some trial and error in the early days they’d settled on hot towels, an effective albeit temporary relief; a placeholder. Roy gently tucks them around Ed’s leg and shoulder, handling the broken pieces of him as if they’re precious and important and not just damaged. As soon as they’re settled to Roy’s approval he warms them again. They clear Ed’s head enough for him to accept the painkillers handed to him and drink them down with water.

Roy busying around the bedroom and ensuite bath is background noise, fuzz in Ed’s ears compared to the noise of his body. He tries to focus on the warmth, clinging to it as it rapidly fades. He selfishly wants Roy back in bed so he can soak up his body heat like some sort of fever-greedy sponge.

He’ll never forget the first time he’d woken Roy like this. It was early in their relationship yet so he only slept over sporadically, and he thought that as long as he kept a good eye on the weather and his body’s other usual warning signs it would be fine.

He’d been wrong.

At least he’d brought his medication, but the look on Roy’s face as he opened Ed’s medical bag and pulled the bottles out one by one is still burnt into Ed’s mind. He’d thought it was surely over. No way would this man want to put up with his chronic pain, especially when it always started nipping at his edges in the middle of the fucking night, _especially_ when it carried a much more serious implication. He hadn’t expected Roy to put together an entire drawer just for those instances, filled with towels he could heat up with the clap of his hands and hot water bottles easily filled in the bathroom and salves that warmed and numbed when it came in contact with his skin. He hadn’t expected to be so wholly accepted and cared for.

The first time Roy woke with his demons from the war shrouding him in a curtain of darkness that kept him from reality, Ed finally understood. He’s dealt with his own share of nightmares and can sympathize. He knows they’re no joke, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up from one still in it. He can’t give Roy a drawer full of things to make his pain go away, nor can he run his hands over Roy’s body until he calms because Roy refuses to be touched.

Ed hadn’t known what else to do. His voice was all he had, so he used it. He could talk for hours, could recite from memory the periodic table and books line for line and has more stories from his younger years than most people do from their entire lives. He could even tell the same ones over and Roy never minded. If he was lucky Roy would settle enough to grasp his hand, and Ed would never let go until he did. It isn’t much compared to what Roy does for him, and it doesn’t happen nearly as often, but Ed would be damned if he doesn’t give it all he has.

Roy returns from the bathroom. The towels are shifted to Ed’s weak complaint, then quickly replaced with hot water bottles, wonderfully heavy as they settle seamlessly against his body. A more intense wave of relief washes over him, convincing his muscles to bring his shakes down to something manageable.

They have the routine more or less worked out but it’s easy for Ed to forget what comes next while he’s halfway gone in the middle of it. He just wants to lay boneless and undisturbed and absorbing enough heat to make his blood boil, but like the towels this relief isn’t meant to last, and Roy keeps working. He shoves a thermometer in Ed’s mouth without warning. Ed wants to protest, but if he opens his mouth it’ll just delay the result, so instead he swirls the bulb under his tongue and tries to look as irritated as he can even though he doesn’t mean it. At least the world has stopped spinning and he can make out Roy’s face in the low light, weary and worried as he pulls the thermometer from Ed’s mouth and holds it up to the lamp.

“101.4,” Roy tells him, which is unsurprising. It’s common for these episodes to present with fever.

More pills are handed to him, a couple of crackers, and then more water.

Roy reheats the water bottles and then finally settles back on his side of the bed, but this time tucked close against Ed’s aching body, pulling the covers over them both. Even though it’s an awkward angle with Ed all curled up on his side, stiff and unmovable, Roy doesn’t let that stop him from taking the tie off of his braid, ruined during his restless sleep, and running his fingers through it, working out the knots without pulling. He scritches his nails against that spot at the base of Ed’s skull that he knows Ed loves, working his incredible fingers into the muscles of his neck that come tomorrow will no doubt feel the strain of him trying to coil himself up like a snail shell.

It’s all good and well and sweet for a few minutes, but like the heat therapy it’s all nothing but a temporary distraction. Roy is well-practiced and can tell when Ed’s mewls and sighs start tending back toward moans and hitched breaths, and he ties Ed’s hair off in a simple ponytail before curling his body protectively around Ed’s own. He holds him close and tight as the remaining episodes of needling pain cut through. Ed throws his head back against Roy’s chest, jaw clenched, his entire body fighting to be flexed and tense even though he knows it only makes it worse. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck come morning.

“Breathe,” Roy reminds him. Ed lets out his held breath in a rush. “Good, that’s it. Again.” Roy brushes Ed’s bangs out of his face, strokes his jaw, presses his fingers to Ed’s temple. Ed focuses on those soft touches, Roy’s chest rising and falling against his back, and breathes.

He has no idea how long it’s been. He’s shit at keeping track of time as it is and the clock is on Roy’s side of the bed so he can only assume. He’s just starting to think the meds might be kicking in when his sciatic nerve gets an unexpected, nasty jolt. It catches him so off guard he doesn’t have any air in his lungs to shout with, his body arcing outside of his control. He doesn’t think shoving a metal toe in an electrical socket would feel any different.

Roy’s damn lucky he’s already got a hand up because he catches the back of Ed’s skull with an open palm instead of his face. If he’s startled he doesn’t let it affect him, doesn’t skip a beat, hands slipping along Ed’s body and wrapping him in another embrace while he shushes Ed’s half-sobbing, half-gasping attempts to breathe.

“They’ll kick in any minute,” Roy soothes. His voice is not steady. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wh- wha’re you- sorry for?” Ed slurs between panted breaths. The muscle relaxers always hit him head-first, a sign that sleep isn’t far behind. Roy, frustratingly, knows this and doesn’t answer. He continues to hold Ed steady, murmuring against his neck, words Ed doesn’t understand and wouldn’t remember even if he could but finds comforting anyway, until it’s all he’s aware of. Until he’s left with nothing, and almost wishes he could stay.

Ed wakes to their bedroom full of sunshine and a cool breeze drifting in through the cracked-open window. He can tell without rolling over that Roy isn’t here. He’s a permanently early riser even on the weekends and judging by the brightness of the sun it has to be at least ten o’clock. It can’t be too late though, Ed’s due in the university lab at noon and Roy wouldn’t let him sleep through it, rough night or not.

Any evidence of the night before – towels and water bottles and whatever else – has been put away. There’s a fresh glass of water, crackers, and a few pills laid out for him on the nightstand. His heart goes tumbling, tumbles right out onto the cold hardwood floor. This fucking guy. Ed takes the man’s sleep and sanity, and yet when Roy wakes up the first thing he thinks about is still Ed.

Ed downs the pills with just enough water and nibbles warily at the edges of a cracker. His stomach isn’t too keen on the idea but he doesn’t have a choice if he a) wants the medicine to work, and b) doesn’t want to have to swallow pills that were surely sized with livestock in mind for the second time after he fucks up his throat throwing these back up.

He manages two crackers and decides it’s good enough. He burrows himself back under the covers, cast off cracker crumbs rubbing irritatingly against his skin. He would typically get up at this point, but he’s exhausted and sore still so he decides to keep his place and wait for his meds to kick in. He gingerly runs his hands down his ruined thigh. It’s tender and complains even at his own gentle touch.

He tries not to think too hard about what went on the night before. He must have looked pathetic, sweating and shaking and sick to the point of bare functionality. Yet Roy had, for some reason, felt the need to apologize to _him?_ Ed still doesn’t understand it.

He rubs his face into the sheets and the crumbs grind against his cheek. With a noise of annoyance he props himself up and, taking caution to not bother his shoulder, gives a few sweeps to the sheets before rolling onto his back with a huff.

At least he’d been able to speak last night. There’ve been times where he never managed anything more than choked cries and curses. The absolute worst episodes are when he’s _cried_ cried. He’s so out of it during those than he hardly remembers anything other than agony and shame. He can barely look Roy in the eye some mornings.

He rubs a hand down his face, feeling his cheeks heat at the mere thought of it. Even if this hadn’t been one of his worst he still dreads facing Roy to some degree, though the other man has never, ever done anything to make him feel like he’s less for it. Roy had tried, cautiously, to bring it up a few times, and Ed had dodged every attempt as neatly as if they’d been physical attacks, manipulating and bending them away from himself. At some point Roy gave up. He never says much anymore, beyond asking Ed how he’s feeling the next day, but it’s what he doesn’t say that makes it difficult. Ed can’t bring himself to meet the worried eyes that follow his limping steps the days that come after. He can’t stand knowing his pain hurts more than just him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

As if on cue he hears the front door open and close. Roy must have stepped out this morning. There's a few moments of what sounds like him having an argument with some paper bags, and then footsteps coming up the stairs.

Ed’s anxiety nudges up a tick. At least when these happen during a weekday he’s allotted an entire eight hours – and sometimes then some - to try and wrangle and smother his guilt and humiliation. The twenty seconds he has before Roy reaches their room isn’t even enough time to cool the warmth on his cheeks. He briefly considers faking sleep, but just the idea of it makes him feel even guiltier. What better way to treat the man who sacrifices his sleep on an increasingly regular basis than by feigning unconsciousness.

Footsteps heading down the hall, and Ed braces himself for an interaction he knows won’t be a big deal despite his brain frantically trying to convince him otherwise. Putting it off would just make it worse. He’d never leave the bed so then he’d have to wait for Roy to check on him and he’d be right back to where he is now anyway.

Roy nudges the door open with his foot and steps into their bedroom. He’s still wearing his shoes and jacket and is somehow juggling a brown paper bag and two lidded cups from the bakery down the street with a small vase of sweet-smelling flowers tucked into the crook of his elbow.

He smiles when he sees Ed is awake. “Good morning,” he says as he makes his way to Ed’s bedside.

“You didn’t,” Ed says, pushing himself to sit, the sheets pooling around his waist. He tries to cross his legs but his left twinges in warning, so he decides better of it and hopes Roy was too busy with his balancing act to have noticed. He settles for just the right, bending it and placing his foot against his automail knee to form a triangle in which he settles his nervously clasped hands.

“Ah, but I did,” Roy confirms as he gently places the vase on Ed’s bedside table and a kiss to Ed’s forehead, then offers him one of the cups.

“Well, y’didn’t have to,” Ed mumbles. He’s sure his face is hotter than whatever liquid Roy hands him and he hates it even though he knows Roy loves it.

“But I wanted to,” Roy says. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed, taking caution to avoid disturbing the area around Ed’s leg. “I assume you won’t be up for going out tonight?”

Ed sighs. They’d planned it weeks ago, too. “I don’t think so. I dunno if I’ll even make it to the lab today. Probably just let the undergrads handle it.”

“Exactly,” Roy says, thankfully not in disappointment. “So, let me do this instead.” He reaches past Ed to pluck a sprig of tiny white flowers from the vase and then tucks it behind Ed’s ear because he is _ridiculous_ and if Ed wasn’t holding a drink he’d have whipped the covers over his head so fast he’d have broken the sound barrier.

Ed takes a long sip of his drink in an effort to distract himself from his own embarrassment. It’s tea, of _course_ it’s tea, because too much caffeine can make him sick after taking those ridiculous horse-dosed painkillers and Roy knows this because he never forgets a single detail. It’s just a touch scalding, but he doesn’t mind. It blooms a swathe of comforting warmth at his core.

“How are you feeling?” Roy asks. He glances at the side table, no doubt making sure Ed has taken care of himself. He probably even counted the crackers.

“’m alright.” Sore and tired, the deep full-body kind that’s going to stay with him for several days, the kind he’s definitely not going to talk about.

“Are you up to eating?” Roy holds out the bag. “I picked out a little bit of everything.”

Ed sets his tea down on the nightstand and takes the bag. Roy is not joking. There’s got to be at least a dozen pastries and doughnuts and _there goes Ed’s heart again_. He doesn’t deserve this man.

He’s still not feeling particularly hungry, but Roy’s gone to all this trouble and Ed won’t be the one to ruin it. He shies away from the fancy stuff – just the sight of all that sugar makes his stomach uneasy – and snags the single plain doughnut. It takes a few bites to wake up his appetite, but wake up it gradually does, and Ed digs in without a care to the crumbs he’s dropping. They’ll have to change the sheets because of those vile microscopic cracker fragments anyway.

By the time he starts on his second – feeling brave with a cream cheese filled pastry drizzled with icing – he realizes he’s been hogging the bag, and Roy - either polite to a fault or fearful that Ed would bite his hand for trying to take his food source - hasn’t even had one.

Ed offers him the bag, and Roy waves him off with a smile. “I ate on the way back.”

“With your arms full of all this shit?” Ed asks around a mouthful of pastry, realizing too late he must look enough a mess without acting like one too. He can practically hear Al scolding him for his shit manners from an entire desert away. Roy has truly picked himself a winner. Ed hastily finishes chewing and swallows before he speaks again. “I’d liked to have seen that.”

Roy doesn’t say anything, just reaches out to scoop icing from the corner of Ed’s mouth, bringing his finger to his mouth and closing his lips around it. Ed’s eyes widen and his breath is gone, just like that. Roy’s so damn handsome and it’s not fair of him to use that to his advantage and he knows it, smirking as he sucks his finger clean.

Ed knows his face is red again. He crams the rest of the pastry in his mouth to avoid saying anything, or worse, having to answer whatever Roy says, though it turns out to be nothing despite the perfect opportunity. Roy just sips his coffee and stares out the window, occasionally glancing over at Ed, and it’s sweet of him to stay by Ed’s side while he stuffs his face, but something is off. Ed can feel it. Roy isn’t just staring off, he’s thinking. Hard.

Ed is just about to consider perusing the bag for delicacy number three when Roy sets his coffee on the windowsill and somehow stops time by simply clearing his throat.

Everything in Ed seizes. He knew it was coming. Between last night and flowers and breakfast in bed from their favorite bakery, he knew. He goes from feeling like he might be able to put down half of this morning’s offerings to hoping what he’s eaten will stay down.

“The end of the school year will be here soon,” Roy says, watching as Ed neatly folds the top of the bag, presses a crease into it, and repeats.

“Yeah,” Ed says as he sets it on the table next to his tea and the flowers. The sight of them should be comforting, but now they only make him cold and nervous.

“It’s incredible what you’ve accomplished and where you’ve set your sights, and I haven’t wanted to disrupt that, or put any pressure on you. But I also think I’ve been too…agreeable with your avoidance of this topic.”

Ed’s left hand gathers a fistful of sheets.

“I think it’s time,” Roy tells him.

Ed closes his eyes. Swallows.

He knows it is. It was time over two years ago when he’d been wandering the market next to the train station with a ticket to Rush Valley stuffed in his satchel. He’d been feeling apprehensive about the whole thing – it was just an appointment to discuss refitting and take his measurements but setting the plan in motion was a little more reality than he was ready to handle. He wasn’t looking forward to giving up his apartment and scholarship and bodily autonomy for the foreseeable future, not to mention once Al caught wind of it he was going to put his life in Xing on hold and come running, on foot across the entire desert if he had to, and Ed hated the thought of being that kind of burden to his little brother, especially for the second time.

If he believed in fate it’s what he would call running into Roy there that morning, seeing him for the first time since he’d handed in his military resignation, Roy literally _seeing_ him for the first time since he’d regained his sight. Ed had already been teetering on the edge of should-I-stay-or-should-I-go so at first he questioned whether or not his sudden attraction to his former commanding officer was real, or if Roy was just more attractive than the alternative, as most things were.

It hadn’t taken him long to figure it out. They had both changed, in some ways not at all but others quite a bit, which was a good thing considering their previously antagonistic-at-best dynamic. At that point they were both far more reserved. Tired. Haunted. And it was nice to recognize it for the first time in so long, to share it without having to share the why because they both already knew. He’d blown off his appointment with Winry in favor of reconnecting, and he’s been putting it off for something unexpectedly, frighteningly wonderful ever since.

Roy still has no idea Ed’s objective that morning had been anything other than claiming as many free samples as he could find. Ed doesn’t think he’ll ever tell him. The man’s guilt could rival his own, and that’s saying something.

But Ed knows nights like the last are taking a toll on Roy. He doesn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes in the morning, or how he sleeps in his office during lunch, or that sometimes he passes out on the couch as soon as he gets home. Ed can’t blame him for getting tired of it in more than just the physical sense. Ed’s life revolves around trying to prevent the next episode. He’s a constant clusterfuck of anxiety and barely does much more than go to class, lab, and study. It isn’t fun, for either of them. He wouldn’t want to put up with him if he wasn’t already sewn in, either.

“These episodes are coming closer together,” Roy says. “They’re getting worse.”

“Last night wasn’t so bad,” Ed mumbles, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to deal with the way Roy is looking at him right now, incredulous and unbearably sad.

“It hardly matters,” Roy says. “What will this look like next time? Next month? Are you willing to cling to one night of ‘not so bad’ among all the ones that have left you so suffocated you’re barely conscious?” he asks. He isn’t mean about it. His tone is gentle, full of care and concern that threads straight through Ed’s heart as easily as his fingers through Ed’s hair. “And perhaps it’s selfish for me to say, but it hurts to see you in pain and not be able to make it stop. I’ve felt useless before, but never like this. It breaks my heart.”

Ed looks at him, hoping his face translates more as are-you-seriously-serious instead of what-the-fucking-fuck. _This_ is why Roy apologized the night before?

“_Useless?_” Ed echoes in disbelief. “You do literally _everything_ you can. God, all the times you’ve taken care of me when I wake at asscrack o’clock and can’t even speak? I can’t even begin to give that back.”

Roy’s face darkens to something more serious. “This isn’t the kind of thing you keep _score_ of. And if it was, what about all of the nights you just lay next to me and talk?”

Ed squeezes his eyes shut. His hand curls tighter in the sheets.

“For _hours_, Edward,” he presses. “Sometimes until the sun comes up and I can see how utterly exhausted you are. You listen to me panic about sand in my throat and blood on my hands but you’ve never so much as hesitated to stay by my side. You’ve never left me to go through it alone.”

“It’s not the same,” Ed says, like he has any right to, like he even still believes a rule like equivalency exists, much less that it can be applied to something that can’t and shouldn’t be measured.

Roy’s brows furrow. He looks hurt. “No, it’s not exactly the same. But it feels the same. It _says_ the same. You do everything you can for me, and I couldn’t ask for one thing more.”

“I can’t either,” Ed says, staring at the leg that almost looks normal when it’s beneath a bedsheet. “And this…this is asking _so_ much more.”

“How so?”

Ed bites his lip. His heart, unable to leap out of his chest, has decided to crawl up his throat instead. “It’s- it’s going to be rough. Really rough. For a long time. As in _years_. I managed recovery in a year and a half the first time but I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I know you’re afraid to do it all over again,” Roy says, and he’s trying but he’s just not _getting_ it. “I can’t even begin to imagine the pain-”

“I’m not afraid of the pain!” Ed cries in frustration.

Roy goes quiet at his outburst. Ed is trying not to shake but his breathing gives him away anyway, shuddering on the in and rushing out. It’s all that fills the silence.

“What _are_ you afraid of?” Roy asks quietly.

Ed’s feels like he’s choking, drowning. If this is going to be the end then this is the part where it happens and he doesn’t want it to be over. He wants desperately to keep weaving their lives together, to keep waking in this bed next to Roy, to always feel his breath on the back of his neck at night and lips on his forehead in the morning. He’s found the one thing he’s only ever wanted for himself and he doesn’t want to let that go.

But he can’t imagine Roy actually _wants_ to stay through this. Wants to be there while they peel metal from the skin it’s fused to or use a drill to screw the implant to his femur or dig the sharp scraps of metal from around the joint of his shoulder, wants to watch him struggle to relearn how to fucking wiggle his toes and bend his knee. And if it _is_ what he thinks he wants Ed can’t accept that he has any idea of what he’s getting himself into. He’d never forgive himself if Roy changes his mind and only stays out of guilt of having already committed.

“You already do so much,” Ed says, laying a hand on his metal leg. His meds must be working because it has nothing to say to him. “And if you’re there for this I’m going to want to hold your hand through it. Removal and reattachment and cutting this shit out of my shoulder, while I relearn how to walk and if- I’d understand if you don’t want to, y’know. Hang around for all that. If you think it might get to be too much, I’d rather know now.”

Roy’s eyes widen with shock, and for a terrifying moment Ed thinks he’s hit the nail on the head.

In that instant he can feel the foundation of this freshly built life start to crumble. His mind takes off, swarmed by a list of all the things he’ll have to collect from the rooms of this house, all the little bits and pieces of himself scattered, things he’d brought into Roy’s life hoping they’d stay- where’s he even going to _go_, fuck, he’ll probably just head straight back to Rush Valley- _alone_, and- and Roy-

Roy just sighs. Then smiles, the soft kind that’s meant to go straight to Ed’s heart and always does. He doesn’t look like someone who’s about to dissolve a years-old relationship, and he says as much. “Do you really think my love is so conditional? That I would let you go for something I’ve _known_ was going happen, nearly from the start?”

“I- I think-” Ed tries, tries to gather his thoughts, tries to at least do and say _one thing_ right. “I think rose-colored glasses exist, and people sometimes want things they find aren’t for them, and I don’t want to be one of those things. I don’t want to be something to regret.”

Roy’s fingers under his chin. Roy’s fingers lifting his face.

“The only thing I would regret,” Roy says, “is letting you go one more day believing that you are not enough. That you are not worthy of being taken care of, loved, and helped when you need it.”

Ed blinks. Keeps blinking. Looks from the ceiling to the window and the floor and back up again as he fights to keep his emotions under control. There’s nothing he can say in return that won’t lead him to busting through this fragile barrier and this is the worst possible time for a breakdown, even if it is technically the most appropriate.

Roy’s hand falls away. He’s still looking at Ed with the smile that further tests Ed’s stoic resolve. “I was hoping to do this tonight,” he says as he reaches into his coat pocket. “But since you aren’t feeling up to going out-”

“What-” Ed starts to ask. The question dies on his lips.

Roy is holding a small black box. Roy is holding a small black box, and he’s lowering himself to one knee on the floor next to the bed.

Ed’s eyes are surely the size of saucers. He’s tempted to slap his leg to see if he’s dreaming, but the fear of the physical repercussions – or worse, it actually being a dream – stops him. He can only stare.

“You are the most brilliant, beautiful, brave soul I have ever known. It’s nothing less than an honor to help you shoulder this, and whatever may come after, for the rest of both of our lives.” Roy opens the box. The band is resting on a pillow of red velvet, sleek and so dark it’s nearly black. “Edward Elric, will you marry me?”

Ed just- keeps staring. Because Roy can’t be serious.

Here he sits, hair in disarray, crumbs in his lap, half of his limbs decently functional, and eyes burning; a mess in every sense of the word yet still being asked one of the most important questions a person can be asked in their lifetime. He’d planned to cling to this as long as he could. He never thought he would be offered forever.

The emotional whiplash is too much for him to handle. He opens his mouth, and snaps it shut again before he can instinctively take what he wants. It wouldn’t be right- it wouldn’t be _fair_ to do that to Roy, even if Roy doesn’t always play fair, either.

Ed drags his eyes away from the ring and up to Roy’s face. “Have you ever been around someone with new automail?” he asks shakily. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

“I don’t have any first-hand experience, no,” Roy says carefully. “But I’ve tried to get as close as I can. Does the title _Whole, But At What Cost _ring a bell?”

Ed does not answer, because nothing coming out of Roy’s mouth is making any sense.

Roy seems to disagree, calmly kneeling there as if his words and actions are perfectly reasonable. “Miss Rockbell recommended it. She said it was the only one to resonate with you.”

Dammit. Ed should’ve known letting him intercept her phone calls was a bad idea.

“I’ve been through a few different books,” Roy continues, “but that one was the most helpful. The rest were- they tried to make the journey sound sanctified, and beautiful, and- well. It isn’t, is it?”

Did he just say _books?_ With an _s_?

Roy’s been reading about automail recovery? And not just reading, but- _researching?_

_For Ed?_

He can’t be that lucky. It’s not possible. His luck has always sucked, his life one rocky road after the next, like he’s human contact paper for tragedy, and surely his existence had peaked on the Promised Day. He hasn’t even read the aforementioned book since he was a child stuck in a wheelchair he couldn’t even move on his own, and he remains unconvinced it accurately details what’s going to happen to his body and mind, eidetic memory be damned. How could a book, even the best of them, possibly make someone understand?

When he opens his mouth this time it still isn’t to say yes. It’s to rattle off all the reasons Roy should reconsider subjecting himself to this.

“I- I’m not going to be myself. I’m going to be whiny, and needy, and depressed, and angry. I’m going to snap at you, probably say things I don’t mean.”

Roy is still down on one knee, and still unphased. He also doesn’t point out the fact that Ed hasn’t been himself for ages, which is nice of him. “Doesn’t it happen to us all, at some point or another?”

“Key phrase ‘at some point or another’,” Ed says, staring hard at the outline of his leg under the sheets. “Not ‘constant stream of misery’.”

“If I can bring a lull to it, no matter how short-lived and hard-fought – if I can be someone to help bring you back to yourself – it would make me the happiest man on this earth.”

“Every night is going to be like last night. I’ll wreak havoc on your sleep.”

“I’ve been saving up my time off. We’ll get through the worst of it by the time I need to go back.” He holds up a finger when Ed’s mouth opens. “And before you say a thing about me putting my work on hold, just let it be known that Hawkeye has been preparing to stand in for me for some time now, and she’s starting to get a little restless.”

Ed probably ought to be offended Roy is trying to use the lieutenant’s potential disappointment to disarm him, but he’s not. Here the man is pouring his heart out and trying his best to prove himself and Ed is just so fucking _scared _he can’t see the grave reality of their imminent future.

“You’re- you’re gonna have to carry me up and down these stairs every day.”

“Something I greatly look forward to,” Roy says with such an earnest smile Ed almost doesn’t doubt him. “We can start today, if you like.”

“You don’t mean it. I’m a mess. I’ll always be a mess.”

“No more of one than I am and always will be. Let your mess be mine.”

Ed finally hazards more than a glance at Roy. Incredibly, he’s kept cool and poised during all of Ed’s mid-proposal attempts to talk some damn sense into him. The look on his face sets Ed’s resolve to crumble. He always speaks poetry about Ed’s eyes but his own are incredible too, big, dark, and beautifully hopeful, and Ed can’t bear the thought of what they’d look like if he said no.

And, fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want this. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long, long time.

“You’re sure?” he asks, because he’s weak when it comes to Roy, he’s been weak from the very start of the spark they’d struck. He hopes Roy can read behind the lines of his tone, hopes he can pick it apart to find the ‘this is your last chance’ and ‘run while there’s still time’ and ‘please, please break my heart now so you don’t crush it later’.

Roy reaches out and gently covers Ed’s hand with the one that isn’t still busy holding a ring. It’s only with his steady touch that Ed realizes how badly his own body is trembling.

“When I lost my sight, I thought I would quite literally never see you again. When you handed in your resignation, I thought that would be the last time I would ever hear your voice. I didn’t understand, then and for a long while, why I felt so strongly about losing you in particular. It wasn’t what it is now; just a feeling, a pull, something to be guarded and grown. And when I saw you that morning at the market, it clicked, so quick and neat it was frightening, and I almost lost my nerve. But I couldn’t just let you walk away again.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Ed whispers, the confession spilling out of him because his damn filter is still down and he immediately wishes he could take it back. It’s one thing to convince Roy to save himself and run for the hills. It’s another to make him feel guilty while doing so. It’s just cruel. Doesn’t he understand he deserves so much more?

“I was- I-” Ed tries, choking on his own words.

Instead of being surprised, or even letting him finish, Roy just says, “I know.”

Ed’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. Roy squeezes his hand and gives him a small smile.

“I found the train ticket still in your bag the first night we went through this, when you couldn’t quite tell me where your medication was and I was panicking.”

Ed feels foolish, and quite a lot like an ass, but relieved all the same. That tiny little detail had been nagging at him for years, and for no reason it seems, as Roy doesn’t seem to be upset about it in the least.

“I wasn’t positive about what it meant, at first,” Roy continues, “but it didn’t take me long to interpret the signs and ask myself all the same questions you have.” He lets go of Ed’s hand and takes the ring from its pillowed box, holding it out and at the ready. “I made up my mind a long time ago.”

All the fight, all the uncertainty and fear leaves Ed in a rush. His heart doesn't get the memo and continues to pound so hard Ed swears he can hear it.

“Well fuck,” he says, which definitely isn’t the way most people say yes but Roy knows him far better than most people. He breaks into what is easily the most gorgeous smile Ed has ever seen in his life, and so, so carefully reaches for Ed’s left hand, as if he’s afraid Ed is going to spook and yank it away. The band slips on neatly, settling cool and heavy on his fourth finger. The longer Ed stares at it, the more his eyes start to burn.

Roy rises, careful again as he sits next to Ed and gathers his face in his hands, pulling him in. Ed tries to pour everything he can into that kiss, everything he’s ever wanted to do or say or give. Their cheeks are damp where they touch and Ed isn’t sure which of them is crying until they separate and it turns out to be both of them. Roy’s lashes are dark and damp and Ed’s vision is swimming. There are so many emotions swirling in him that he isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or sob or grovel at Roy’s feet for being an immeasurable idiot.

“I can’t believe you were going to do this to me in a _restaurant_,” Ed says, furiously wiping at his eyes. “In _front_ of people.”

Roy laughs as he brushes away his own tears. “I had no such intentions, I assure you. I pictured something much more private, after dinner. And – well – this certainly counts as private, yes?”

“It was perfect. Sorry I tried to ruin it.”

“You’ve never been anything less than deeply suspicious of any good that happens to you, and if you think I wasn’t prepared for it I assure you that wasn’t the case,” Roy says. His dark doe eyes never losing their light through Ed’s dumbassery speaks true to that. “It’s safe to be happy here with me. I’m not going anywhere. And I never want you to forget that,” he says, tapping the band on Ed’s finger.

“Okay,” Ed breathes, in awe and wonder and all of those other words of astonishment that even altogether could never properly convey how truly incredible it was they’d found one another. That despite being two pieces from different puzzles, chewed up by trial and time, they still slotted together as if they’d always meant to. And that, somehow, they know just what the other needs – that they _are_ just what the other needs.

This tentative, new forever doesn’t fix everything. It feels as fresh as spring, the part where the frost starts to come and go and makes everyone wonder if the warmth will ever truly stay. It’s going to take time for Ed to settle into this, to let it bloom into something that feels real. But for the first time since he was an overly optimistic teenager, he’s eager for the future, no matter the hardship he knows will come or the unknown he can’t yet see. He can’t wait to see what they can be without this storm looming over them.

“I- guess I’ll be giving Win a call this week,” he says. And he should probably write Al, too. Ed wouldn't be surprised if Al was already beating him to it. He'd probably felt a massive disturbance in whatever plane of existence he’d tapped into that allows him to know whenever Ed fucks up.

“I’m sure you’ll make her day. She’s been worried about you.”

Ed snorts. “500 cens says she expresses this ‘worry’ by rendering me deaf over the phone.”

“I think getting engaged may be a decent enough distraction to save you.”

Ed eyes his ring. _Engaged_. It sounds _hella_ weird. He's going to have to start calling Roy his fiancé. And that's- weird too, but the best kind. It makes his heart do more stupid things and he loves it.

“And get accused of trying to distract her? Nah, I’m good.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think she’s far more irritated with me for having let you avoid her for so long.”

“It’s sweet of you to try an make me feel better for being a jerk, but I’m comfortable with my fate.”

Roy’s smile softens. “I know it's not the sort of thing you're interested in hearing, but honestly, Ed. You’ve been hiding for so long- it’s just going to be relief, for all of us. We’ve missed you.”

Ed looks up at the ceiling again. For fuck’s sake. Calm yourself, Elric.

“Can we- revisit this, later?” he asks. “I dunno what chemicals my brain’s been running on this morning but I’m about out of ’em.”

Roy leans in and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

Then he reaches past Ed, and Ed might be just slightly offended when it’s not to touch him or add more flowers to his hair, but to make a grab at the bakery bag.

“Ey!” Ed says as he yanks it away. “I thought you said you already ate.”

Roy gives him a sheepish smile. “I lied. I was too nervous.”

Ed's heart does that thing again. Fuck, he’s adorable.

“It’s kinda fucked up to tell someone an entire bag of fried dough is for them and then take that back,” Ed says solemnly. He’s just jerking Roy’s chain, but that’s always fun and this morning desperately needs to lighten the fuck up.

Roy tips his head toward the door. “There’s also half a dozen blueberry muffins that I unfortunately had to drop off downstairs to avoid literally dropping them. Would you be inclined to trade?”

Ed’s jaw goes slack. If Roy keeps springing shit like this on him, his eyes are eventually going to pop out of his head.

“I love you,” Ed declares, voice unsteady. “If I still had my alchemy I’d yank you a ring right out of my automail, right here.”

“Are you meaning to tell me I should have prefaced this entire conversation with the disclosure of muffins?”

Ed shrugs. “’s not my fault you still haven’t figured out the easiest way to my heart is food.”

Roy gives him a flat look. “My mistake in assuming my earnest proclamations of love would be sufficient.”

Ed shakes his head. “You should've never gone rogue,” he says, and Roy laughs.

“As endearing as the offer is, your mechanic would never forgive me.”

“Like she’d ever notice. The steel’s doomed to the crucible anyway.”

Roy looks amused, albeit unconvinced, but it’s not like Ed even has the ability to go through with that idea, so it’s whatever. He’s got to make up for his bullshit somehow though, so he digs around in the brown paper bag for something Roy might like. He uncovers an old-fashioned glazed doughnut and, in a sudden fit of sappiness he knows Roy would love, he determines it to be ring-like enough.

He cups it between his palms, pulls it from the bag, and presents it to Roy by opening his hands like a clam shell. “Will this suffice for now?” he asks. “I’d get down on one knee, but, well.”

His face is red again, but it’s worth it to see another one of Roy's brilliant smiles, his eyes shining as he holds out his hand, his ring finger just slightly arched as if he actually expects Ed to slip the doughnut on there like some sort of sinful breakfast ring toss. Of course he would be the level of infuriatingly suave to have the ability to move his fingers like that. Ed wouldn’t have him any other way.

The light to Ed’s dark, the steady to his chaos, the forever to his always, grins.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me over on [tumblr](https://butbythegrace.tumblr.com/).


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